


love won't break us, love will take you

by daydoodles



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Bottom Jack, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydoodles/pseuds/daydoodles
Summary: 34. “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”





	love won't break us, love will take you

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I got a prompt from [phantoms4evr](http://phantoms4evr.tumblr.com) on tumblr for #34 and any Kent pairing from [this prompt list](http://irlkent.tumblr.com/post/150132954044/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-make-you), and it got sort of long so I decided to post it here!
> 
> I am not great at writing smut so please be gentle with me...also I'm sorry in advance, since you asked for Kent and happiness, which isn't exactly this. But it is Kent and what he thought was happiness at the time, so maybe that counts? Either way, thanks for the prompt love~
> 
> PS. The title is from [this song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=za-2WCu4SEY), which makes me really emo about Pimms.

“Kenny, you good?” Jack cocks an eyebrow, still beautiful despite the fact he's drunk off his ass. His hair’s a little shaggy, his eyes a little hazy, but Kent doesn't really notice because he's no better off.

“I'm great, Zimms. N-never been better.” He stumbles a bit over the words, but it doesn't make them any less sincere.

“Okay,” is all Jack says; he's not talkative at his best, and he's definitely not in top shape at the moment.

Kent isn't sure exactly how many shots they've taken, but it's been a few hours since their celebratory house party hit full swing, so it's probably been too many. They deserve this, they do; they just won the state championship, and Jack doesn't let himself go enough as it is, and Kent’s always worrying about Jack, so it's nice to just forget all their problems for a while, get drunk in one of the senior’s house. They've been here before, once for a team get-together, but it's different now that there's no adult supervision and copious amounts of alcohol are involved. Kent smells weed too, but he knows Jack won't go for that and he's not about to leave him, so he ignores it for the most part. Or you know, he tries to. Mostly he just ends up taking really deep breaths whenever he walks by the bathroom, which is where he's 80% sure the smell is coming from.

But Jack is just tipsy enough not to care about PDA, so he lets Kent sit on his lap when the team forms a circle to play Thunderstruck. Kent’s not great at chugging, but Jack’s a pro, so he’s hoping if any of the long pauses come their way Jack will take over. Their captain, Hunter, passes out bottles of beer, and then someone starts the song and they're off. Jack ends up being third, which makes Kent fourth, and thankfully Jack does end up being the one who has to chug the longest.

Which is great, except now Jack’s downed two beers in a three minute period, on top of all the shots he'd already taken, and Kent isn't as bad off but he’s had a beer and a half too, so they're both royally fucked. Kent knows his mom has the night off though, so he doesn't have to worry about her like he usually does, and Jack gets oddly philosophical when he's drunk so Kent is anticipating what wisdom Jack will drop on him tonight. Even when the rest of the team moves to the kitchen to watch some beer pong tournament underway, they stay there on the couch, Kent carding his fingers through Jack’s shaggy 90’s boy band hair and humming along to the shitty pop music echoing through the house. (Though if he's being honest, Born This Way is his anthem.)

“Hey, Kenny.”

“Yeah, Zimms?”

“Have you ever thought about how good we are together?”

Kent stops, hand suspended in midair. “Yeah?”

Jack nods ever so slightly. “Yeah. I mean, on the ice, but also...not. On the ice.”

“You're drunk man, do you even know what you're trying to say?”

Jack squints up at him, shifting Kent in his lap so they're facing each other. “Not really. I'm just glad I have you, is all. To play hockey with, but also just to exist with. I don't feel bad taking up so much space if I have you to share it with.”

Kent stares at him, puts his hands on Jack’s face, runs his thumbs over Jack’s perfect cheekbones. “Are you okay? I didn't see you taking any pills tonight so I thought you were good but if you need to -”

Jack cuts him off with a kiss, all needy and bruising and charged with everything he won't say out loud; Kent kisses back, eager and indulgent and laced with a silent prayer that somehow this will make it all okay. The alcohol, the drugs, the pain; Kent wants Jack to be free of it all. He can't do that of course, and he knows it, so he pulls back after what feels like a lifetime and meets Jack’s blue eyes with his grey. He inhales, gets ready to say something, but Jack’s looking at him like he's all he's ever wanted and it's disarming and Kent wishes that it were true.

Jack’s lips are swollen, a little, from all the kissing, and his eyes are out of focus from the alcohol and he's working his jaw like he does when he wants to say something but doesn't know how and it suddenly dawns on Kent that maybe he loves this boy. He doesn't realise he's said it out loud till he hears the hitch in Jack’s breath, and then Jack’s pressing against him again, over and over, gentle in a way he isn't usually.

Then Jack sits back a bit, and Kent takes in his fluffy hair and the goofy smile he only ever wears when he's too drunk to be insecure, and his heart breaks but at the same time it's driving him crazy because Jack is looking at him like he hung the moon. So the words tumble out, not because he wants them to but because they're true, even if they shouldn't do this while they're drunk and they might regret it in the morning. “If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed.”

Jack blushes, red dusting his cheeks like a goddamn renaissance painting, and Kent loses it. They crash back together, all wandering hands and breathy kisses and mumbled words that they won't remember. Jack stands, taking Kent up with him, hands under Kent’s thighs, and he's walking and Kent doesn't know where he's taking him but he can't find it in himself to care. All he knows is Jack, all around him and in his lungs and his veins, and that's all he needs to know. The rest will sort itself out, in the end.

Jack goes to a bedroom, probably a guest room, and kicks the door closed behind him as they tumble onto the bed, a tangle of lips and limbs and needy groans that should honestly be more embarrassing than they are. And they've done this before, but it feels different somehow; Jack’s kissing down Kent’s throat and mumbling praise against his collarbones and it all seems so new but also familiar in the weirdest way. It's like coming home, to a house that's not quite how you remember it; still comforting, still stabilising, but just a bit unsettling enough to keep you alert.

Jack takes his shirt off, tugging on the hem of Kent’s so he’ll do the same, and then they're pressing against each other and Jack is so broad Kent might pass out from how fast the blood rushes to his dick. It's not like they haven't done this before, but Jack never ceases to amaze him; while Kent’s all sharp edges and lean muscle, Jack is defined and full and absolutely addicting. He can feel Jack half-hard against his stomach though, which is reassuring, but also distracting.

“Kenny?” Jack breathes, lips brushing across Kent’s sternum and down to his ribs.

“What is it?” he says as he tugs gently on Jack’s fringe.

“I want you to fuck my throat tonight.”

Kent almost chokes, but he manages to keep it together for the most part, just letting a low growl rumble in his chest. “Whatever you want, baby.” It's a promise; he’ll do anything Jack wants, anything he needs, if it means he can keep him.

So Jack nods, and works his way down to Kent’s hips, where the elastic of his boxers sticks out a little above his skinny jeans. He bites, and sucks, and leaves a trail of miniature galaxies across Kent’s hip bones; Kent lays back and lets him because he knows if Jack marks him, it will keep him from hurting himself. But once Jack is done, has left his signature on each of Kent’s hips, he lifts Kent ever so slightly and pulls his jeans off with one fluid motion; Kent’s never been sure how he does it, but it's impressive.

Kent whimpers a little, pulls on Jack’s sweatpants so they slide halfway down his ass, and Jack smirks a little as he takes them the rest of the way off. Thankfully, but unfortunately for Kent’s dick, Jack also takes his boxers off with them and it’s all he can do not to touch himself right then and there at the sight of that perfect ass. Then Jack’s back on top of him, and his weight is so solid and reassuring and grounding, and Kent has to focus on kissing him senseless so he momentarily forgets his own raging boner.

Until Jack plays with the waist of his boxers, inching them down his thighs agonisingly slowly till finally his dick is free, twitching against his thigh, and Jack is licking his lips and Kent wants to die. Just take him now, he’s lived a good life, but this is more than any normal human being should be able to withstand. And Jack knows it; he knows Kent’s weaknesses, knows just how to push his buttons, and this is one of the rare times he isn't afraid to do it.

“Where do you want me?” he asks against the curve of Kent’s shoulder, breath cool on the spot he's just sucked.

“Just - lay down. Put your head over the e-edge.” Kent tries to order him around, but he's never been the dominant type anyway and his brain is a little preoccupied at the moment.

Jack nods again, lifting himself off of Kent’s body to rotate onto his back, scooting to let his head hang over the edge of the mattress. Kent stands, pops a crick in his neck, and can't resist leaning down to give Jack an upside down kiss for good measure. “You ready, baby boy?”

Jack can't even answer, he just tangles his hands in the sheets. “Do it.”

Kent leans down, whispers, “Tell me if you wanna stop,” and then he’s tilting Jack’s head, guiding his jaw just how he wants it. Jack takes a deep breath through his nose, and Kent slides in; and Jack usually isn't big on oral, so it feels more amazing than Kent remembers. Jack’s good with his tongue; works it around the tip of Kent’s dick, then his shaft, and he can feel the exact moment his cock hits the back of Jack’s throat, which is more than enough to make him moan. He can feel Jack groaning too, soft whimpers escaping every now and then between gags. Kent starts shallow, since he does actually want Jack to enjoy this, but as he slowly picks up his pace he can see Jack’s hands start to flex, knuckles tight, and he can't resist running a hand over them.

One of Jack’s hands is still wringing the sheets, the other stroking his dick in sensual, fluid motions. Kent can't help but watch, and he gets the feeling that's what Jack wants; as soon as he notices Kent isn't meeting his eyes anymore, Jack speeds up, thrusting into his own hand, to match the rhythm Kent’s setting. It's obscene, and it should be disgusting, because the squelching sounds and the smell of sweat and sex are all around them, but Jack’s leaking precum is puddling onto his stomach and Kent is almost tempted to pause so he can lick it up. He doesn't though, too focused on the way Jack’s throat is squeezing his cock with every thrust, every gag.

Kent goes faster, but not shallower, and there are literal tears rolling down Jack’s face, dripping off his cheekbones onto the floor, and it's weirdly beautiful. Jack hasn’t looked this blissed out in a long time, and Kent might actually have a heart attack if he keeps this up. Jack tilts his head back ever further, shifting on the bed so the angle’s better, and Kent can feel how close he is. “Jack, baby, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing such a great job. You're such a mess, so good for me.” Jack can't respond, but Kent sees the way his eyes squeeze shut, and it's all the reply he needs. “You're close too, aren't you, baby boy? Cum for me, please.”

And Jack does. He works himself through it, streams of white splattering across his torso, legs shaking, and between that and the way he's still choking on Kent’s dick, it's not surprising Kent cums soon after. What is surprising is the fact that Jack swallows; every bit of it, he just drinks it down like he's dying of thirst, and Kent is almost positive he's going to need emergency medical service after this. A little bit of his cum leaks out of the corner of Jack’s mouth, so Kent pulls out, leans down and licks up the mess he made right off of Jack’s lips.

They're panting as Jack pulls him down onto the bed, curling up against Kent’s chest and pressing lazy kisses to whatever he can reach. Kent’s petting his hair again, scratching gently against his scalp the way he knows Jack loves. “You really were amazing,” he mumbles, lips against Jack’s temple.

Jack looks up at him, blue eyes a little glossy. “You were too,” is all he says, but it's more affirmation than Kent usually gets, so he'll take it.

They fall asleep like that, in a stranger’s bed, a tangle of limbs and unspoken promises and broken hope for the future. Maybe this won't last forever, but he has it now, and Kent will never let Jack go as long as he can help it.


End file.
